porches and galleries. No one at home but the cook, a rotund,
broad-faced woman, with a merry eye, whose very appearance suggested
good cooking and hospitality; the Missis and the children had gone up
to the river fishing; the Colonel was somewhere about the place; always
was away when he was wanted. Guess he'd take us in, mighty fine man
the Colonel; and she dispatched a child from a cabin in the rear to
hunt him up. The Colonel was a great friend of her folks down to
Greenville; they visited here. Law, no, she didn't live here. Was
just up here spending the summer, for her health. God-forsaken lot of
people up here, poor trash. She wouldn't stay here a day, but the
Colonel was a friend of her folks, the firstest folks in Greenville.
Nobody round here she could 'sociate with. She was a Presbyterian, the
folks round here mostly Baptists and Methodists. More style about the
Presbyterians. Married? No, she hoped not. She did n't want to
support no husband. Got 'nuff to do to take care of herself. That her
little girl? No; she'd only got one child, down to Greenville, just
the prettiest boy ever was, as white as anybody. How did she what?
reconcile this state of things with not being married and being a
Presbyterian? Sho! she liked to carry some religion along; it was
mighty handy occasionally, mebbe not all the time. Yes, indeed, she
enjoyed her religion.

The Colonel appeared and gave us a most cordial welcome. The fat and
merry cook blustered around and prepared a good dinner, memorable for
its "light" bread, the first we had seen since Cranberry Forge. The
Colonel is in some sense a public man, having been a mail agent, and
a Republican. He showed us photographs and engravings of Northern
politicians, and had the air of a man who had been in Washington.
This was a fine country for any kind of fruit,--apples, grapes,
pears; it needed a little Northern enterprise to set things going.